


The Island Affair

by the_worrying_kind



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, Poor attempts at humor, Possessive Illya, Rimming, also his hands are huge, illya being an overbearing dick, illya smiling fondly at napoleon, mentions of previous torture, really slim excuses for some boy on boy touching, some violence, too many tags, too much emphasis on illya being a giant of a man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 20:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13302696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_worrying_kind/pseuds/the_worrying_kind
Summary: Napoleon Solo was an island.Or so he had always thought.AKA Five times Napoleon tried to go solo and one time the thought didn’t even cross his mind.





	The Island Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the blame and all of the gratitude for being my beta goes to [ kaijusizefeels ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijusizefeels/pseuds/kaijusizefeels%20)
> 
> It all started with [ this.](https://peskyheathen.tumblr.com/post/169315372282/yoshifics-mykaijusizefeels-peskyheathen)
> 
> I should not be encouraged or apparently fic will happen.

Their partnership hadn’t started on the best of terms and there were still some glitches to work out. The arrangement annoyed especially Napoleon, who felt like his already very restricted freedom got even more limited working as part of a team. The Russian was very set in his ways and often refused to see Napoleon’s genius when they planned a mission together. Napoleon longed for the days when he was able to just execute a simple and slick snatch and grab. It didn’t matter if his cover got blown if he was already out of the country by the time his mark noticed that anything was missing. But that was never good enough for the perfectionist of a Russian. UNCLE missions were so much more high maintenance than what Napoleon was used to. So naturally, when their cover got blown, Napoleon blamed their overly complicated plan.

Illya, on the other hand, blamed their blown cover on the terrible excuse of a spy he was partnered with. Illya hadn’t been close enough to exactly know what Napoleon had done but not far enough not to see the gun that one of their mark’s body guards pulled behind the American. Napoleon only reacted to Illya’s own shot that took the goon down. After that everything progressed a bit too fast to fully keep track. They had to take cover behind whatever was the closest thing at hand before getting pinned down by an array of bullets. Despite the distance, they worked seamlessly together taking turns shooting and reloading. Illya counted Napoleon’s shots and catalogued the direction of the grunts that told him that three of Napoleon’s shots had found their mark. Illya was getting ready for his turn when one of the grunts came from the wrong direction. From _Napoleon’s_ direction.

Illya instantly saw red. Even through the roar of rage in his ears, Illya could only hear one lone enemy gun at this point. He wasn’t sure at first, but the sound was definitely getting further and further away. The goon was retreating but they couldn’t afford him getting back-up - especially if Cowboy was hurt. Illya growled and sprinted into action. Luckily for Illya, the American took his turn shooting like clockwork. Illya utilized the opportunity to flank the distracted mark and took him down with more bullets than strictly necessary.

“Was that the last of them?” came Napoleon’s voice.

Illya felt relief wash over him and the red mist started to recede. Cowboy’s voice sounded strong and sure. Illya took one last look around to make sure before making his way back to his partner.

Napoleon was leaning against the pillar he had taken cover behind and was slowly working his jacket off. Illya bend down to check Cowboy’s head for injuries. He was sure he had heard something thud after the grunt of pain.

Napoleon was quick to shake him off. “I’m fine, Peril.”

Illya continued his check undeterred by the squirming American. “Hold still and stop acting like a baby,” he grunted in annoyance. Why was Cowboy struggling? Was he feeling guilty that he had caused them to get shot at?

“Will you stop your fussing, Kuryakin? I already told you I’m fine,” Napoleon huffed as he once again tried to dodge one of Illya’s giant paws. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been shot before and he was more than capable of checking himself for injuries, thank you very much. He wasn’t the one acting like a baby, Illya was the one treating him like one! The Russian finally gave up pawing at his head but was now helping Napoleon out of his jacket. Napoleon tried to twist away because he was more than able to undress himself. Why couldn’t the Russian just take the hint already?

“Ouch! You are not helping me, you are actively hurting me, Peril!” Napoleon snapped at last. Even this didn’t seem to break through the Russian’s thick skull though.

Illya did still for a bit but only to level a glare at him. “Then stop struggling,” he stated simply and Napoleon was left gawking at him in shock. Peril was actually blaming _him_?

In his puzzled state, Napoleon stilled and Illya was quick to rid the American of his jacket and rucked his shirt up. The Russian sighed out in relief as he saw that the bullet had only grazed Napoleon’s side. He ran tactile fingers around the flesh to make sure and for once, Napoleon let him. Illya heard the sharp intake of breath from the American but he remained silent otherwise.

“You will live,” Illya proclaimed after finishing his examination.

He got and annoyed huff as a reward. “I could have told you that. In fact, I _did_ tell you that. _Multiple_ times!”

“Americans. Always so dramatic,” Illya huffed but Napoleon could see the corner of his mouth twitching.

The sight of the giant Russian almost smiling, even if it was at his expense, made all the fight leave Napoleon in an instant. He didn’t even protest getting pulled to his feet by the other man. For once, he didn’t feel annoyed being helped on things that he could very well be doing by himself. Illya’s hand felt nice and warm in his and the soft look his partner gave him left Napoleon slightly breathless. Something in him stirred and with a start Napoleon realized that he could get used to this surprisingly fast. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad to have a partner after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Napoleon was woken up by a nightmare. He wasn’t quite sure of the subject matter of the dream anymore but then again he had an endless list to choose from. Being tortured featured regularly in his nightmares as well as missions with questionable wetwork. The dream left him feeling uneasy and unable to fall asleep again despite his bone deep exhaustion.

Napoleon abandoned his bed and settled on the living room sofa with a drink. The safehouse they were staying at was a tiny one and for once Napoleon didn’t mind it being a bit cramped. Fewer dark corners in the cosy space.

He had no idea what had woken Gaby up but just as Napoleon was finishing his second whiskey, she patted sleepily into their shared space. Napoleon was about to ask her to leave him alone but Gaby simply slumped next to him on the sofa and silently topped up Napoleon’s glass. Napoleon felt too tired to argue and just let her be. She curled next to him on the couch and closed her eyes with a sleepy sigh. Napoleon watched her trusting, sleeping form for a while before gathering the small ball closer to him to keep her warm. Whether it was the whiskey or her presence, Napoleon noticed how his own breathing slowed down to match her peaceful ones.

Napoleon stirred from his slumber as something massive loomed over him in the dark. To his surprise, none of his alarms went off in his head at the presence. Napoleon simply closed his eyes again as he was being sworn at in Russian and a blanket was being wrapped around himself and Gaby.

To Napoleon’s astonishment, the nightmares didn’t return, and the next time he was woken up, it was gently by the heavenly smell of strong coffee. The looming figure from the night before was standing in front of him with two steaming mugs in his giant hands. There was what could only be described as a fond smile curling on Illya’s lips. Napoleon mumbled his thanks and reached for one of the mugs gratefully. His movements made Gaby stir as well and Illya helped her burrow one hand out of the blankets to hold her own coffee. She straightened herself a bit in order to drink and Napoleon was shocked to find that his side suddenly felt quite cold.

 

* * *

 

 

Finally a mission that suited Napoleon! An elegant black-tie affair. His mood wasn’t dampened even by the fact that UNCLE was being stingy and he was forced to share a room with Illya. Napoleon was happily unpacking and making sure his tux hadn’t suffered too much during the trip. Napoleon ran an appreciative hand along the fabric and was about to hang his beautifully tailored tuxedo in the closet when he was assaulted by what was already hanging in it.

Napoleon stormed out of their room in search of his partner who had already set up a game of solitary chess for himself. 

“What on earth is this atrocity supposed to be?” Napoleon demanded while waving the horrendous excuse of a tux he had found in their closet.

Napoleon’s display of righteous indignation was barely enough to break the other man’s concentration. Illya glanced at him shortly before continuing his game. “It is a tuxedo. I am sure you have seen one before,” he simply said.

Napoleon was lost for words but not for long.

“Don’t tell me you are seriously planning on wearing _this_?” Napoleon almost choked on the last word.

“Why not? It is a perfectly functional tux,” Illya said and finally paid slightly more attention to Napoleon and the garment he was gesturing at wildly. Napoleon could not believe this was the same man that had argued so passionately about fashion with him in Rome.

“When was the last time you wore this _thing?_ ” Napoleon asked. He refused to call the abomination a tux.

“Has been a while, “ Illya shrugged.

“Are you even sure it fits?” Napoleon asked while simultaneously praying it wouldn’t. The question finally got him Illya’s full attention.

“Actually, no,” Illya admitted.

“Then you should really try it on,” Napoleon demanded although he would not wish the abhorrent thing on his worst enemy let alone his partner.

“Fine,” Illya grumbled and snatched the offending garment out of Napoleon’s hands. The American was left in the living room praying to any and all deities that his partner would come to his senses and wouldn’t even try the thing on.

After a while, Illya emerged and Napoleon had to swallow hard because his mouth had suddenly gone dry. The tux was still appalling but it was also just a bit too tight for Peril. The way the jacket accentuated his broad shoulders and the pants hugged every inch of him, left little to the imagination.

“See?” Napoleon almost squeaked.

Illya was still twirling around in front of the mirror as if trying to find a way to justify wearing the thing. In the end, even Russian stubbornness was no match for facts.

“It is a bit tight,” he finally conceded but not before giving Napoleon a very nice view of how the pants hugged his partner’s well-formed buttocks.

“Right! We should get you out of that, I mean, _you_ should get you out of that. And as soon as possible. I’m taking you shopping,” Napoleon said while trying to find enough willpower to stop staring at Peril’s ass.

  
Lucky for Peril, Napoleon always knew where to find the best tailors and even more lucky for Napoleon, he now had a lovely excuse to openly stare at his gorgeous partner. It was after all his duty to make sure Illya looked his best so he didn’t blow their cover at the event. He might have overstepped his boundaries a few times when he had insisted brushing the invisible lint off Peril’s shoulder or fiddling with his bow-tie a bit longer than strictly necessary. He also might have waved off a few perfectly acceptable choices in mock-horror just to have Illya glare at him. But what else was Napoleon to do when his partner just reacted to his goading so beautifully? Who could resist poking the bear when you were relatively sure the bear wouldn’t actually hurt you?

While Illya was changing out of the tuxedo they had chosen for him, Napoleon surveyed the shop. They had a superb collection of ties and Napoleon decided he deserved a treat after single handedly rescuing their mission. He was debating between two ties when Illya appeared behind him. The ridiculously tall man was able to peek above Napoleon’s shoulder with ease.

“You should choose the blue one. It matches your eyes,” the Russian murmured next to Napoleon’s ear. He had to suppress a shiver and his mouth was running mostly on autopilot.

“I thought you said it didn’t have to match?” he joked and Illya was still standing close enough for Napoleon to almost feel the rumble of amusement the Russian let out. Then Illya plucked the blue tie out of Napoleon’s hand before heading to the register to pay. Napoleon was about to protest that he hadn’t actually agreed on the choice! Not to mention he could very well pay for himself! Besides, Peril was creasing his new beautiful new tie in his brutish paw. But somehow, it just didn’t feel like the right thing to do.

 

* * *

 

“I’ll be fine, Peril! I’ve done these kinds of missions hundreds of times before. I know what I’m doing. I really don’t need to wear a wire,” Napoleon protested. His partner didn’t look convinced but continued setting up the bugging system undeterred.

“I think you should do as Illya says,” Gaby chimed in looking genuinely worried. _Great, now they were ganging up on him_ , Napoleon lamented. 

“This man is homicidal and sadistic on a whole new level, Napoleon,” Gaby continued as she gestured at the files. Napoleon didn’t need to open them again in order to shiver at their content. Napoleon had made contact with the mark earlier that week and had charmed his way to the man’s good graces. There had been a highly disturbing look in the mark’s eyes that had left Napoleon wondering if he had been invited over to be his next sexual plaything or simply murdered.

“Fine, I will let Peril bug my shoes like he likes to do,” Napoleon tried.

“We know where you are. We need to listen for signs of trouble,” Illya barrelled on. The mark lived in an immense and well-guarded estate. Napoleon’s backup would not be quite as close as he’d prefer. 

“Then I’ll wear that gaudy tie pin with a built-in microphone.” Napoleon shuddered just looking at the ghastly pin. 

Illya simply shook his head. “You will be out of range. It has to be the wire,” Illya argued as he finished his last checks on the device.

“True, but what if he notices the wire? He will most definitely kill me then,” Napoleon argued.

“Not if you keep your clothes on, for once,” Illya said. “Unbutton your shirt for me.”

“So, which is it? Keep my clothes on or strip? Do try to make up your mind, Peril,” Napoleon quipped. Illya failed to look impressed or amused by Napoleon’s quick wit and Gaby gave him a rather insulting eye roll before leaving them to bicker in peace. The American let out a defeated sigh and started undoing his shirt. 

Napoleon eyed the bulky transmitter suspiciously but did his best to stick it down his pants and out of sight. He placed the microphone between his pecs and Illya was there in an instant to tape it down heedless of Napoleon’s chest hair. The removal would sting and Napoleon suspected his partner knew that too. He aimed a glare at Illya and the Russian avoided his eyes as he quickly added three more pieces of tape.

“That’s a bit excessive, Peril!” Napoleon complained and tugged at one of the pieces holding the wire down. He flinched at the pull on his chest hair and ducked the Russian menace just in time.

“Hey! Don’t you dare!” Napoleon yelped as he swatted Illya’s hand away. The bastard had been ready to stick even more tape on him. Napoleon could see the small smile tugging at the corner of Illya’s lip and felt his annoyance quickly leaving him.

“Just making sure you’re safe,” Illya stated as he finally packed that dastardly menace  away.

With a resolute sigh, Napoleon started fixing his clothes back on. He could not help but feel exceedingly uneasy with the contraption he was attempting to hide. 

“What if the mark decides to get frisky?” Napoleon tried in one last attempt to let his partners give up on the idea.

“Then you excuse yourself and go ‘freshen up’,” came Illya’s steadfast reply as he eyed Napoleon to make sure he couldn’t spot the wire.

“But he might get all kinds of handsy before then,” Napoleon continued to plead.

Illya raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

“You were invited over for dinner. With other people,” Peril countered gruffly.

Illya was looking increasingly tense and Napoleon decided to try and push his slight advantage. Maybe if he could make the Russian uncomfortable enough, he would drop the subject? Napoleon wiggled his eyebrows and looked as provocative as he could.

“There’s a lot that can be done in front of other people without them noticing,” he purred suggestively as he invaded Illya’s personal space. To his dismay, Illya wasn’t taken aback by Napoleon’s theatrics. He appeared to think on it for a moment and then hummed as if in agreement.

“Then we need to make sure you have hidden the wire well enough, don’t we?” he said and Napoleon had a brief moment of horror at the thought of Illya getting the tape back out. To Napoleon’s surprise, Illya opted for a whole other form of torture. Suddenly he had Illya’s warm hands on him as they circled Napoleon’s waist before moving on to glide along his back.

“So far so good,” Illya praised Napoleon’s wire hiding skills and Napoleon let out a breath he had been holding. Napoleon was overwhelmed by the sheer span of Illya’s immense hands as Peril spread them against him. He could feel his pulse quickening and wondered if Illya could feel it too. Napoleon flicked his eyes to Illya’s but the other man’s gaze was unfocused and staring at the wall. His concentration seemed to be solely on his exploration of Napoleon’s body. As those nimble fingers swept to Napoleon’s front, Illya tutted and proceeded to fix the wire to fit better to the center of Napoleon’s abs. Then his hands travelled so close to Napoleon’s crotch that the American could not help but let out a tiny, and highly embarrassing,  squeak. Illya’s mouth twitched and he moved back to cup his partner’s backside. Then all of a sudden his hands were gone and Illya took a step out of Napoleon’s personal space. The air that rushed to fill the Russian giant sized void, felt blissfully cool to the slightly flushed American.

“I think you will  be just fine,” Illya said in a voice that let Napoleon know he wasn’t the only one affected.

Needless to say, Illya and Gaby ended up being right. The mission went tits up in no time as their mark insisted spending time alone with Napoleon. That was of course simply a ruse to maim and kill him in peace. He wasn’t very skilled at masking his murderous intent behind his flirting. Consequently, Napoleon quickly took his cue and excused himself to the bathroom where he was quickly seized by the mark’s henchmen. Luckily, they were no match to his enraged Russian partner who had been listening via the wire.

Together the spies subdued the mark and Illya crammed the unconscious man in the tiny trunk of their getaway car. As they were driven to safety by Gaby, Napoleon could feel two eyes on him. Neither one of them said _I told you so_ out loud, and Napoleon couldn’t quite bring himself to say _thank you._

_Thank you for having my back._

 

_Again._

 

* * *

 

His partners were suffocating Napoleon. There didn’t seem to be a single moment of time that he didn’t spend with either or both of them. Even if they weren’t physically present, Napoleon’s space was littered with reminders of them. He had to move Illya’s chess set to make room for his feet on the coffee table and no matter where he looked he would come across a weapon or two that Illya always stashed around every nook and cranny. Not to mention Gaby’s beauty products in their bathroom or her the radio she had taken apart on their kitchen table; leaving no room for Napoleon’s breakfast plate. His partners were due back any minute now and somehow Napoleon just couldn’t handle the idea. He rushed to the door and was infuriated by the fact that he had to dig through three different coats before finding his on the rack. Napoleon’s frantic movements sent the coats flying but he didn’t find it in himself to care. He simply grabbed his own and bolted.

After calming his nerves in a bar, Napoleon was feeling better about the prospect of being crammed in with the rest of their team. At least there was more booze back at their hotel. The bartender had been incredibly rude and had cut Napoleon off just when he was getting pleasantly numb. That was exactly the kind of move Illya would pull on him. The Russian didn’t seem to have a single fun bone in that enormous body of his. The body Napoleon wouldn’t mind getting to know a bit more intimately. The thought made him groan out loud as he pressed the stubborn buttons of the hotel elevator.

Maybe Gaby would drink with him? And even share his admiration of the shape of the Russian’s backside? Gaby who always seemed to know everything and notice everything. Gaby who he could always count on to share a poignant look with when he could barely suppress the urge to mock someone to their stupid face. Gaby who didn’t take any shit from anyone and always pushed Napoleon to do better.

Gaby, who was sitting on the sofa next to Illya and glaring him to death.

Napoleon let the door bang shut behind him before trying to smile disarmingly at his partners. His charms were wasted on the two.

Gaby was up and yelling at him in such a rapid German that Napoleon had a hard time following. He got the main gist of it though. He had selfishly made them worry and if he ever just disappeared for hours on end again, she would make sure his dead body would never be found. Gaby accentuated her points with a few well aimed angry pokes of her finger that made Napoleon flinch embarrassingly. He wasn’t even given any time to apologize before she stormed off to her room. Leaving Napoleon alone with Illya.

“Are you going to yell at me too?” Napoleon asked and his speech slurred only a little.

Illya rose from the sofa and Napoleon felt himself tense as the Russian approached.

“No,” Illya said with a tone that was a bit too flat for Napoleon’s liking.

Without looking at Napoleon, Illya helped him out of his coat. Napoleon grumbled because he wasn’t _that_ drunk. He made a somewhat wobbly beeline for his room and did his best to shed his clothes on the way. Napoleon’s progress was rudely interrupted by whoever had invented such a cumbersome thing as buttons. Seeing his inviting bed, Napoleon gave up and fell face down on the heavenly mattress. A moment later he could feel someone taking his shoes off and Napoleon felt a spark of annoyance at the gesture. If he wasn’t feeling increasingly sleepy, he would have told the other man off but since unconsciousness was insistently tugging at him, Napoleon had to surrender to the manhandling. The last thing he was conscious of was those strong hands wrapping a blanket around him.

 

* * *

 

Napoleon had been feeling shitty about his impromptu excursion to the bar for days now. Gaby had been easy to deal with since she had been clearly angry and had accepted Napoleon’s apology. Illya on the other hand had been keeping his distance to Napoleon which unnerved him. He hadn’t noticed previously how much Napoleon had gotten used to Illya’s presence. All of a sudden there was something huge missing from his peripheral vision. There was no giant cleaning his guns at the kitchen table as Napoleon cooked or fiddling with his chess pieces as Napoleon lounged on the sofa reading.

Gaby was being called away for the evening to meet up with Waverly and Napoleon wasn’t looking forward to an evening alone with the aloof Russian. As the door closed behind Gaby, Napoleon fixed himself a drink with a heavy sigh. Gaby had made him promise that he would have a talk with Peril. He might need some liquid courage for this particular mission.

Napoleon found his partner reading on the balcony. He could pretend that the other man was outside in order to enjoy the sun but Napoleon knew Peril had chosen the spot to be as far away from Napoleon as possible without leaving their apartment. His approach made Illya put the book down and Napoleon could see him contemplating getting up and leaving Napoleon alone on the balcony. But then Illya made proper eye contact with him in what seemed like way too long and he stayed.

Napoleon fiddled with the drink in his hand but didn’t really feel like drinking any of it.

“Look. I know how I behaved last week wasn’t exactly great,” Napoleon began awkwardly and got an honest to god _snort_ from Illya for his effort.

“You could say that,” Peril said seemingly still amused.

His reaction sent Napoleon reeling. He had been sure Illya was festering a deep rage towards him and this calm amusement was highly disorienting.

“You are not angry?” Napoleon had to clarify.

“No,” the Russian said with a small smile while shaking his head at Napoleon.

“I understand. You needed space,” Illya continued.

“Yes. Thank you. I did,” Napoleon was still flabbergasted. Then something clicked.

“So, you haven’t been avoiding me because you were angry with me. You were giving me space?”

“Yes. Did you have enough of it for now?” Peril asked. Napoleon had hard time finding anything intelligent to say so he just nodded.

“Good,” Illya said as he stood up, “because if you ever do something as stupid as that again I will put you over my knee.”

Napoleon let out a nervous laugh to hide the heat those words sparked in him. He offered a jovial smile to Peril but the spark of amusement that had been glinting in the Russian’s eyes before was now gone. He was towering above Napoleon and crowding him against the railing. Napoleon couldn’t help himself from instinctively trying to back away from the approaching menace but there was nowhere to go. Illya reached for him as Napoleon overbalanced himself slightly against the railing. Napoleon was simultaneously sure Illya was making sure he wouldn’t fall and slightly worried Peril would decide to hurtle him off the balcony after all. Illya studied his face closely before speaking again.

“No partner of mine will act as recklessly as you without punishment. Am I making myself clear?” Illya almost murmured as his hand crept from where it had fisted in Napoleon’s shirt to the nape of his neck. Napoleon didn’t trust his voice enough to speak so he just nodded silently.

“Very good,” Peril continued and proceeded to crash his lips against Napoleon’s.

Napoleon froze momentarily in shock before surrendering completely to Illya’s demanding mouth. He let Illya take what he wanted and did everything in his power to press himself flush against his partner. He could feel Illya’s appreciative moan rumble in his chest before drowning the noise with one of his own. Illya’s kiss was a punishing one but Napoleon couldn’t help himself from wanting, _begging,_ for more with every fibre of his being. He tried his best to pour his promise into each kiss; he was never going to vanish on his partners again. He was Illya’s partner. He was Illya’s.

Napoleon felt Illya’s hands travel across his body until they hooked behind his thighs. In an impressive show of strength that wrenched an undignified yelp out of Napoleon, Illya had scooped Napoleon up and was now carrying him towards the bedroom. Napoleon was already feeling quite dazed after being ravished by his partner and didn’t find it in himself to do much more than to cling onto the giant of a Russian currently manhandling him. Illya looked up at him with a small smile on his lips.

“Yes. I like this quiet, obedient version of you, Cowboy.” Napoleon was thoroughly disarmed by the mirth in Illya’s eyes and was shocked to notice he didn’t mind the teasing the slightest. So, he simply kissed Illya because he could.

Napoleon was half expecting Illya to just toss him on the bed but Illya placed him down gently.Then Illya pressed his face against that sensitive spot behind Napoleon’s ear and just _inhaled_ him in before growling “ _my_ Cowboy” into his skin like a confession. Napoleon was glad he was lying down because the possessive yet somehow almost cherishing tone made his knees weak.

“Off. Get this off. _Now_ ,” Napoleon pleaded as he clawed at Illya’s turtleneck. What he of course meant was _Yes, Peril. I’m yours._ All _yours_.

The KGB apparently trained their agents well because not only did Illya strip himself in record time he also managed to get Napoleon out of his clothes in the process. Napoleon ran greedy hands over the vast expanses of Illya’s back and moaned shamelessly as Illya pressed their gloriously naked bodies flush together. All the naked skin made him positively ravenous and Napoleon mouthed and nipped any expanse of Illya’s shoulder and neck that he could reach. Hooking his leg around one of Illya’s he finally got their crotches aligned and revelled in the breathy gasp Peril let out at the contact. Illya rolled his hips and Napoleon threw his head back and spread his thighs wider with a desperate moan. He watched in awe as Illya’s eyes closed in pleasure and his normally tense mouth opened softly around a groan. Another roll as Illya raked his nails along the underside of Napoleon’s thigh and he revelled in the feeling of Illya’s strong hands all over his body.

Illya urged Napoleon’s thigh further up and ghosted a finger against his entrance.

”Can I?” he asked as he looked at Napoleon with eyes that were mostly pupil.

Better men than Napoleon might have said _no_ to this beautiful man but Napoleon couldn’t think of anything he wanted more.

“Yes! God, yes. _Anything_ ,” Napoleon moaned desperately and tried to spread his thighs impossibly further.

He could hear Illya’s breath hitch and then his mouth was so close to Napoleon’s ear that Napoleon could feel those damn lips brush his skin. There was a new kind of raspiness to Illya’s voice that sent yet another spark of lust through Napoleon’s body.

“What a dangerous thing to say, no?”

And if Napoleon was in his right mind at all he would agree with Illya. Hell, he agreed with the Russian even now but just failed spectacularly to care. At that moment, he was more than willing to risk almost anything just to get what he wanted. And he wanted Illya.

Napoleon barely had time to realize what was happening before he was flipped over and Illya was mouthing his nape. Napoleon arched under him and Illya ran appreciative hands along his sides. Napoleon felt himself shiver as Illya scraped his teeth against his neck and whispered the word _beautiful_ into Napoleon’s skin. It felt downright luxurious to be the one to just lie back and be at someone else’s mercy for once. The realization made Napoleon purr in contentment like a cat. Illya’s lips continued their way along the croove of Napoleon’s spine before he nipped one of the American’s cheeks playfully. Napoleon groaned and rubbed himself against the bed as he felt himself harden further.

“Beautiful,” Illya said again and Napoleon heard him shuffle behind him. Napoleon had a brief moment to wonder if Illya was off to find something slick before Illya’s huge hands were spreading his cheeks apart. Napoleon did in fact feel something slick at his entrance followed by a hot breath and the noise the realization ripped out of him was downright embarrassingly _scandalized_ . God, he sounded downright _desperate_ . What a novelty it was to have those kinds of sounds being pulled out of him. Just as Napoleon was sure it couldn’t get any worse, Illya chuckled and he could feel the bastard’s smile against his entrance. Illya was going to _kill_ him.

When he finally felt the first lick across his hole Napoleon’s whole body shuddered and his cock twitched almost violently against the sheets. Illya hummed as if greatly enjoying himself and started unravelling what little was left of Napoleon’s sanity. Napoleon was making noise almost constantly and the pillow he had buried his face in did little to muffle his keening moan when Illya finally wormed his tongue inside. Illya was going maddeningly slowly and took his sweet time suckling at his rim almost self-indulgently. When Peril pushed his tongue as far as it would go and _curled_ it, Napoleon whimpered out Illya’s name. That finally made Illya pick up his pace with a hungry little growl and he start fucking Napoleon in earnest. 

Napoleon’s body couldn’t seemingly decide whether to push up against Illya’s mouth or to seek friction for his aching cock. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this painfully, desperately _hard._ His thighs were so tense they were quivering and he could feel his climax approaching fast. The wet noises Illya was making were fueling him on and Napoleon knew for a certainty, he would never forget the ravenous little moans his partner pressed into his sensitive skin.

“Illya, God _Illya._ Please, I’m going to come. Illya. Illya. _Please_ ,” Napoleon babbled.

Illya only hummed and slipped one of his endlessly long fingers alongside his tongue. Like a true marksman, Illya hit Napoleon’s prostate on the first go and rubbed his finger mercilessly against the sensitive spot. Napoleon surrendered helplessly under the added assault and came harder than he could remember in a very long time, if ever.

Napoleon could hazily feel Illya pulling out of him and kissing his way back up across Napoleon’s heaving back. The impressive length of him rubbed against Napoleon and the American couldn’t suppress the hungry moan the hard heat of Illya elicited from him. Napoleon would have pushed himself against Illya if he could have made his body obey him this soon after the force of his orgasm.

“Please, Illya. I want to feel you. Please,” he pleaded weakly as the Russian nestled himself against the groove of Napoleon’s ass.

“No. The only way you are getting my cock, Cowboy, is if you come on it,” Peril growled.

The response left Napoleon breathless and he blindly arched against the larger man. Illya had some mercy on him then and started rutting along the crease of Napoleon’s buttocks. The American couldn’t help the desperate little sounds he let out as Illya’s cock brushed against his sensitive hole. To his amazement, Napoleon could feel his spent dick stirr with interest. The sensation was _too much_ and it made him whimper. Napoleon arched in order to press his ass more firmly against Illya and to alleviate some of the pressure on his overly sensitive cock.

Illya moaned and gripped Napoleon’s hips in order to find a better angle as he chased his own release. Napoleon was grateful as the angle lifted his groin off the bed and he sighed in relief. Illya mouthed along his shoulder and Napoleon offered his neck up like a sacrifice for Illya to claim. As Peril flattened himself against Napoleon’s back like a burning hot Russian bear rug, Napoleon reached back to grasp any part of his partner that he possibly could.His hand found a strong thigh which he clung to and revelled in the feeling of it flexing as Illya rutted against his ass. His efforts earned him a deep growl and an almost too hard of a bite on the juncture of his neck.

“That’s it. Come for me, Illya” Napoleon encouraged as he could feel Illya’s rhythm grow increasingly erratic. Illya keened at Napoleon’s encouragement and snapped his hips with a force that made the bed let out a protesting creak. With a few more thrusts Illya was coming all over Napoleon’s back and Napoleon couldn’t  for the life of him say which one of them was making more noise at the feel of it.

They collapsed on the bed and Napoleon listened as Illya’s breaths started to even out. The Russian was lying partly on him and running his fingers lazily along Napoleon’s back. It took a moment for him to realize that Illya was playing with his own come. Napoleon idly thought that he should feel annoyed by the gesture but then Illya nipped his ear and whispered _Mine_ and Napoleon found himself agreeing.

“Yours,” he admitted.

 


End file.
